


Star Watcher

by yozra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, BokuAka Week Day 10, Fluff, M/M, Manga Spoilers, and stardust, stars stars stars, still lots of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Koutarou spends his nights watching the skies, worlds and stars - but one especially radiant star catches hold of him.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Star Watcher

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone, but some of you may find it familiar to [the story with a similar name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209109/). It wasn’t my intention to create this in the same universe when I started writing this story, but then some elements worked their way in naturally, which then made me wonder whether this really was (or should be) in the same universe, and _then_ , this morning, I decided to stop being wishy washy about who they were and just let them be. Are they one and the same? I'll leave it up to you to decide.

“What are you watching?”  
  
Koutarou continued to gaze through his spyglass – black as space and just as speckled – turning the dial a sliver to the right to focus on a young Koutarou shifting from clutching a young Keiji by the shoulders to wrapping his arms around him. Koutarou grinned (wider, he had already been smiling for some time) because he knew exactly how it felt to hold Keiji in his arms like so.  
  
“Us.”  
  
Whenever Koutarou pulled out the spyglass and pressed the cool eyepiece to gaze, he thought about pointing the lens and turning the dials elsewhere – at someone else, onto a different world, through other dimensions, in another time – but he couldn’t help it, he was drawn to the stories surrounding them. There was a word for that, which one might use to describe a person appearing to be fixated on themselves, but to Koutarou it was simply viewing another reflection to learn about himself, of what he had created, of what he chose to express. What would be the point in creating, if solely for the reason of entertaining others – why would he choose not to entertain himself when he went to all that effort?  
  
“Again?” Keiji asked, mock exasperated. Koutarou’s answer was more often the same than not, but they were comfortable in this routine. “Which world is capturing your interest this evening?”  
  
“Right now, a high school version.” While looking through the warmed eyepiece, Koutarou turned to Keiji’s voice, stopping when a big blur swept to fill the lens. He adjusted the next dial along to sharpen the outlines, raising the spyglass higher until he found lips, line too flat and sharp to match the soft demeanour of the owner. “I accidentally confessed,” Koutarou deliberately confessed.  
  
“And how did I respond?”  
  
“You panicked.”  
  
The line tightened.  
  
“Only for five minutes,” Koutarou insisted, zooming in on his mouth; he wanted to lax that line. “And you stopped panicking after the second kiss.”  
  
A twitch at the corner. “Oh? How did I react then?”  
  
“You melted.”  
  
With those two words so did that line, to a supple curve that stirred the butterflies inside to flitter-flutter; Koutarou wondered if the Koutarou he’d been watching had felt the same – if all the Koutarous felt the same – and concluded from the feel of the warm spot deep down where the butterflies gathered to rest that all versions of him had felt the resonance at some point in their lives.  
  
The spyglass was pulled from between his fingers, and Koutarou blinked up, adjusting his eyes to the sight of Keiji standing before him, floating glow-spots of stars created in their little corner of the universe irradiating Keiji’s black hair to turn it creamy-silver.  
  
“Shall we go home, Koutarou?” With his question, Keiji held out his hand, ever slender but by no means weaker.  
  
This evening, they would return to their home at a leisurely stroll, loosely holding hands while a step apart, because they were settled, and it was that time of day-night where they liked to contemplate, in silence, while also in the other’s company instead of individually like they had been throughout most of the night. They could feel the other’s emotions touch their thoughts and wrap them in warmth, which in turn warmed their thoughts to those more temperate and flexible, creating a perfect atmosphere for when they returned to drink Keiji’s favourite cup of tea – a simple blend of the common tea leaf with a sprinkling of local, seasonal flowers plucked and dried, and a golden starry flower floating on top that Keiji had tenderly nurtured with warmth from a flame borrowed from the source of all that is and nourishment from a syrup that shone and shimmered. By adding the flower, the tea never cooled, allowing them to spend as long as they wished relaying crispy-fresh discoveries and recounting well-worn memories.  
  
But there were days where stories unfolded in such a way that the butterfly wings whipped Koutarou sore to the point his eyes smarted. He couldn’t bring himself to tear the spyglass away mid-story, owing it to them – to himself – to watch, even as their lives burned and shrivelled into ash, scattering into dust that neither winked nor danced. He would be brought back at the touch of a hand on his shaking shoulders and the spyglass would be drawn out of a grip that rivalled that of the blackest black hole, and they would head home, Keiji taking Koutarou’s hand and threading their fingers tight, leading him all the way to their chair where he gave a gentle order for Koutarou to sit himself down. Keiji made him his favourite cup of tea – which Koutarou drained instantly – and suggested they retire for the night-day. Koutarou buried his face into Keiji’s chest and closed his eyes to Keiji running fingers through his hair, replaying the story in his head again, and again, and one more time, searching for the exact point in the story for him to begin the next night so he could go a different trajectory and make sure there was at least one good ending.  
  
But at some point, usually when the sun was shining highest and hottest, he would remember. That there was only ever exploration guided by a compass moulded for each, with the feeling needle searching for their own truth. And he accepted that the story he had watched was no more ‘bad’ than his was ‘good’, and taking charge of his emotions, found beauty and light in the story he had been fortunate to discover and wished the other version of him and Keiji well.  
  
(He still preferred stories that brought a natural smile to his face, and kindled a warmth in his chest similar to those quiet moments of realisation of how fortunate he was that out of all the possibilities, he had chosen a path to be here.)  
  
Today though, Koutarou was in top form, with so much energy he could create an entire system of stars. He didn’t, mainly because Keiji was the one who had to follow through and adjust all the surrounding systems in the same way people who created miniature scenes shelved coin-sized books and rotated bean-sized cups – ever so carefully with held breath, hand shaking involuntarily only in the instant before fingertips touched the objects to be moved, the body not following the mind’s orders to keep still. (And in Keiji’s case, it wasn’t a hobby, it was damage control.) (Meanwhile, Koutarou passed out for a good long while, having spent all his energy except for the orts that gave him enough strength to drag his feet home to deplete a few steps short of the bed; when he woke, he found himself tucked carefully in their bed.)  
  
So Koutarou did the next best thing and watched their stories, and tonight, instead of being content with the luxury of watching one, he had gone ahead and watched five.  
  
“Just one more,” Koutarou pleaded, tapping the empty spot on the ground beside him. “You haven’t seen any tonight.”  
  
“Knowing me, I’ll darken your dawn so much, the night will last three times as long.” Keiji was trying to tease him and keep their talk light, but Koutarou could feel the unuttered sigh attached to the end. Keiji had a knack for picking up the more complex stories, those that blended emotions into a single swirling mixture that could only be separated again by repeatedly distilling each concentrated thought.  
  
“I’ll pick for you – and you’ll enjoy it!”  
  
“You can’t guarantee that.” Keiji lowered himself down and held the spyglass back to Koutarou. “But as I’ve always enjoyed the stories you choose, I’ll trust your starlight touches.”  
  
Keiji sat close next to him as Koutarou took the spyglass, bringing it close to his right eye and pointing it upwards, turning the dials without knowing what he was looking for until he slowed their tunings to a fracture of a sliver, and it felt right, to stop.  
  
Another version of him playing volleyball, this time in a black uniform instead of white, and he locked the world into place; he did a quick search at the full stadium and found Keiji sitting in the stands.  
  
“You look happy,” Koutarou shared. “ _Really_ happy, watching the game.”  
  
“Am I watching the game or watching you?”  
  
Koutarou followed supporter-Keiji’s line of sight down to – himself.  
  
“Watching me play the game,” Koutarou said, as the professional spiked the ball and sent it bounding off to the crowds; the beam was sent to Keiji, no doubt about that.  
  
Koutarou passed the spyglass over; Keiji tentatively lifted the spyglass to his eye and peered in.  
  
During Keiji’s silence, Koutarou brought his knees to his chin to rest his head and watch; he noticed a small glowing spot emerge just behind Keiji’s ear and resisted the urge to huff at it.  
  
“Ah,” Keiji finally said.  
  
Koutarou glanced back to him. “What?”  
  
“This will be a good story.”  
  
“Why, what’s happening?”  
  
“You were right.”  
  
“That’s not what I asked!”  
  
Koutarou pressed himself to Keiji, who leaned away, gaze still locked onto the distant action. “This will be very good indeed.”  
  
“ _Keiji!_ ”  
  
They toppled sideways onto the grassy carpet, Koutarou collapsing onto Keiji chuckling in the same way as the Keiji Koutarou had just spied; a thick cloud of shimmering dust rose around them—  
  
Keiji sneezed.  
  
(Koutarou never not found it amusing that Keiji retained a sensitive nose regardless of his form, though he now only sneezed with the burst of stardust from them both feeling especially giddy; Keiji, initially blinking in surprise, laughed at himself, equally amused.)  
  
Lying beneath him, between his arms, Keiji held the spyglass up towards him. “Why don’t we go home and use the mirror instead so we can watch together?”  
  
Koutarou was drawn to his gentle air and easy smile, and he pushed his fringe out of Keiji’s eyes. “Not yet – I just stumbled on a star I want to watch awhile.”  
  
“You can do that through the mirror, too.”  
  
“But I wouldn’t be watching _you_.”  
  
The surrounding ambience softened, the floating fine dust leisurely drifting down – and flurrying up again, stirred by Keiji raising his arm to brush his fingers through Koutarou’s hair.  
  
“Then we’ll stay like this until you’re content.”  
  
“It could take some time.”  
  
“We have all the time – we’re timeless.”  
  
So they did just that, breathing – just breathing – their inhales breathing life into stars adorning their Space – temporarily, until their exhales sent them travelling on their way. And Koutarou, he traced and retraced Keiji’s features that seemed brand new with every shift in the glowing light spots and waves of black and silver, first with his gaze, and then with his fingers, and nose, and lips, feeling ever grateful that his Keiji caught him over and over, as many times as Koutarou gravitated towards him, straight into his arms.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Until we next cross paths  
> ・。・゜・★ ☆・゜・。・


End file.
